Monday, September 25, 2006

A Fantasy of Senses

I close my eyes.I see the splay of your hair upon the sheet, softly colored by time and the sun.Errant strands of silver and gold cling to your face.My thoughts create the touch of your panted breath warm and moist against my neck.My mouth anticipates the taste of a probing from your tongue.My mind builds the pleasure of your bare breasts as they rasp against mine through the hair of my chest.I imagine the strength of your legs scissoring around my naked waist.My ears tune for the sounds of wet passion as our bodies repeat their connections.I sniff the air in search of the smell of your woman’s musk.My muscles tighten and my tendons begin to strain.My heart races, I gasp for breath.My eyes open, and I am still alone.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Bug Tails - "Bug 'N Books"

I call Bug by “Bug” for good reason. It’s because of his manners in the bedroom. Have you ever suffered the experience of a single fly or mosquito in your bedroom all night?

Early to bed-early to rise; that suits my biorhythms just fine. Eight o’clock in the evening is past my bedtime. If I’m still there at four in the morning, I’ve overslept. My week-night entertainment in bed is two to three hours of reading, which gets me through about ten books per month. I’m a slow reader.

Each night of late, as I lay on my stomach reading and munching on sugar-free Popsicles, Bug has been joining me with a dog biscuit. He jumps onto the bed with a whole biscuit in his mouth, trots over by my head then…plop…drops his snack on the open pages of my book. He eats his treat by small bites and nibbles. My book---his table---lots of crumbs.

Last night I said to him, “Bug, you’re an asshole. Why don’t you learn to read the book instead of eating off of it?” In response, he licked my face, stood up to move a bit forward, and then dropped full-body across the book covering it completely. Lost cause, I thought.

I pulled the book out from under Bug, dog-eared a page corner, closed it and tossed it down to the floor. I turned off the light, snuggled the top of my head against Bug’s belly and went to sleep.

This morning, when I crawled out of bed, I stepped on the remnants of that book. Jesus H., I thought, I give him books and I give him books, all he does is chew the covers off.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Spilled Beer

David intended to enjoy a couple of cold beers, quiet time to think, and to learn a bit of information about the new area in which he now lived.

Nice bar, he thought. Clean. Warm woodsy ambiance and spacious. Being mid-day, the tables weren’t occupied. A half-dozen men and one woman claimed stools along the short side of the “L” shaped dark-oak and brass trimmed bar. David selected a stool near the center of the long side of the L…away from the other patrons.

“Hello, stranger! What’s your pleasure?” said the pretty woman behind the bar. Her smile was genuine, not the usual paste-on smile of people who make their living by serving the public day-after-day.

“A cold mug of whatever is your most popular draft beer,” David said.

Nice ass, David thought, when the woman turned her back to draw his beer from the tap. He wondered if she was attached to anyone. Probably, he guessed, and likely to a total asshole.

The woman placed a full frosted mug of beer on the bar. “I’m Doris. First beer’s on me. You?”

“David. Thank you.” The beer tasted good. He drank almost half of the refreshing brew before setting the mug back on the bar.

“Good!” Doris said, with a warm smile and a wink. She walked to the short end of the bar to serve the other men and woman. One had been thumping the bottom of his mug on the bar top to get Doris’ attention. They’ve probably been sitting there and drinking since the place opened, David thought. His gaze followed Doris as she walked toward the other people. Yes, definitely a good looking woman.

Harsh words erupted between Doris and one of the men. The man wore a sleeveless white T-shirt, a rolled bandana tied around his head, and his hair in a ponytail. He had a thin moustache. A tuft of hair grew under his lower lip which, in David’s opinion, looked like shit. That must be the one, David thought. Jesus….

Doris made a curt remark to the man, gathered her fists full of empty beer mugs then hurried to draw fresh beers for the group.

“Who the hell are you?” the man with the ponytail shouted at David. David ignored the question. Instead, he said to Doris, “Boyfriend?” Doris bowed her head slightly and shrugged.

“Got wax in your ears, boy?” Ponytail shouted. “I’m asking who the fuck you are?” David ignored him again.

Doris delivered the fresh beers to the group. She said, loud enough for David to hear, “Mind your own business, Bill! You’re drunk! Drink this beer and go home!”

“Yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you, bitch? I go home then you screw the new guy.” Doris pivoted on her heel. She moved away rapidly. David saw resentment, or hatred, in her eyes.

Yep, pure asshole, David thought. Why are such good looking women attracted to pricks like Bill? He’d asked himself that same question many, many times in the past. He hadn’t figured out the answer yet. Likely never would figure it out, he thought.

“I understand,” David interrupted. “I’ll be back.” He thought the meaning of the smoke he saw in her eyes was clear.

“He drives a black Ram pickup with dog boxes in the bed,” she said softly. Her smile was tentative.

“So?”

“Well, just in case you’d rather stop in when he’s not here,” she said.

David smiled. “Naw, I’d rather stop in when he’s here. For the entertainment value.”

“Doris! Get your ass down here!” Bill shouted. She flashed an apprehensive smile at David, hesitated briefly as if about to make a comment, but instead hurried to the small end of the bar. Bill called her a dumb Cunt and demanded she get him another beer. Returning to the beer-taps, she glanced at David with an apologetic expression, maybe shame, and poured another beer for Bill. Bill slithered from his stool and staggered toward David.

Bill leaned his forearm and elbow on the bar. His face positioned about a foot from David’s. “I don’t like you, asshole!” he said. The stink of his breath was repulsive. David thought dog shit smelled better. He ignored Bill again. He just stared into the amber liquid in his mug.

“I think you want to screw my woman so I’m gonna stomp your shit!” To emphasize his point, with his free hand Bill grasped David by the shoulder. A big mistake.

David didn’t ignore him this time. He had been holding his beer mug by its barrel with his fingers and hand pushed through the curved handle. Sudden as the strike of a snake, David swept his arm across and up from the bar. The thick and heavy beer mug connected high on Bill’s jawbone and on his temple…hard. The sound of the impact was ugly. A wide gash opened over Bill’s cheekbone. Blood splattered.

Bill dropped to the floor like a stone. The woman sitting with the men at the short end of the bar squealed like a pig and applauded. Doris blurted a short startled laugh.

“Doris?” David said quietly. “How about a refill? It seems I’ve spilled this one.”

Monday, September 04, 2006

Shooting Star

Chuck watched the shooting star glide across the clear night sky. He imagined the sparkles from the comet’s tail as being monstrous fireflies of space. He made a wish.

The hour being late, he walked along this path alone. The only discernable sounds emitted from his footsteps and the occasional rustle of the fabric of his lightweight jacket. The bulk and weight of his Smith & Wesson .45 nested snug under his left armpit…comfortable.

An unknown neighborhood to him Chuck had taken this route for this evening’s walk at the recommendation of the new night-shift desk clerk at the motel where he lodged. A sleazy looking little bastard, Chuck had thought, but what the hell, he was the employee of a reputable hotel chain.

Earlier in that day Chuck finished an intense week of business so he strolled along now allowing his mind to wander randomly and clear away the stress. He looked forward to leaving early the next morning on his return trip home. Two hard days of driving, he thought, and he would be sleeping comfortable in his own bed.

Chuck glimpsed a flicker of movement in the thicket of small trees just ahead at the right side of the pathway. A deer? He wondered. Deer were plentiful in the area where he lived. He thought it likely they were plentiful here as well. Chuck slowed his pace---maybe he would have a sighting.

But, this is a big city, he thought, so he deftly slipped his right hand through the partially open zipper of his jacket and unsnapped the retainer strap that secured the big Colt in its holster. A feeling in his gut had prompted a warning.

A muffled cough, that’s what it sounded like. Damn, he thought, human, not animal. A long time avid hunter Chuck knew the differences between human sounds and animal sounds.

He stopped walking. He searched the small stand of trees with his gaze and listened intently. A shuffle of feet, a rustling of the brush, and then two men stepped into the path directly in front of him...close

Fuck, he thought, here we go!

Predictable as well, he thought somewhat amused. Both degenerates; covered with tattoos and body jewelry. A look at their eyes told the real story, though, glazed by drugs. That frightened him.

One man seemed familiar---immediately his mind’s-eye flashed a picture of the sleazy little night clerk at the motel. Maybe a brother, he thought. A planned assault?

The larger of the two men held a small pistol in one hand. Chuck quickly assessed the pistol as being of a small caliber. The man didn’t seem able to focus his aim though. Drug-high indeed.

The smaller man caressed with thumb and fingers a large knife held lightly in his grip. He and the knife worried Chuck more than the man with the pistol, even though either weapon could wound him fatally.

Chuck’s mind quickly calculated three options. He could turn and run…hope he was fast enough; stand quiet and let them have their way; or, draw the .45 and attempt to stop their potential assault.